


Let's Cut To The Green

by Miss221b



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Dean Angst, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Pre-Stanford, Sad, Sad Dean Winchester, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss221b/pseuds/Miss221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of a boy lost in time. A selfless boy. A brave boy. A boy who found his green light buried in his death. This is the story of Sam Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**_First things first: I am sorry. This is horrible and sad and made me cry. So yeah, I’m sorry. Buuuttt, in my not-so-professional opinion, I love it. This fic is my baby. It’s long, about ten chapters. So be prepared, I’m updating weekly. Or maybe sooner, it depends on the reviews and feedback ;) Also, Sam is about 13ish in this_ **

 

 

It all started with a huff. Quite a few huffs, actually. All given life by one Samuel Winchester. Sam Winchester, who was very tired of the inside of the motel of the week. The cracked paint and water stained ceiling had quickly lost whatever charm they had had to begin with. The overwhelming color of blue was just that; overwhelming.

            “I never really liked blue,” Sam mused quietly to himself. Green was much more in his direction. It was something John had instilled in him: blue meant a wide open sky, meant you were vulnerable.

            It bothered Sam on a deep level that something as simple and personal as a color had been effected by his father’s tyrannical presence in his life. It seemed that every time he attempted to distance himself from this life, he was just getting closer to the realization that there was no escape. That was just something Sam was not willing to accept. He would get away to a place where he could choose his own color preferences, and he would drag his brother with him kicking and screaming if that was what’s necessary.

            He glanced over at his big brother, asleep on the bed closest to the door. How could he possibly sleep? Sleeping was all they had been doing for the past two weeks, Sam never wanted to sleep again. Despite this protest, he felt his eyes pulling themselves closed, the dull atmosphere lulling him into a state of laziness. He shook his head, attempting to dispel the sleepiness.

            Sam’s eyes twitched to the door with longing. The dirty windows only alluded to the bright summer day he knew was blooming outside. He could practically feel the sun on his skin and smell the rich smell of the forest behind the motel just thinking about it. He leaves were all green, he knew. It was just the beginning of summer, and there was not a red leaf in sight. Sam ached desperately to get out of the motel room he had been trapped in for the past two weeks. But he and Dean had received strict instructions to stay inside, to not even _think_ about opening the door. Whatever they were hunting was close, too close. And every night their father returned “home” without blood on his hands everyone got a bit tenser, as though waiting for an invisible string to snap. And snap it would, but Sam did not know this yet.

            Surely though, a brief walk couldn’t do _that_ much harm, could it? Sam was starting to doubt the existence of this particular monster. There had been no bodies leading them here, nor nasty supernatural omens. But every time Sam asked about it, his father and brother shared a dark look and shook their heads, mumbling about how they had heard rumors from other hunters. Really, Sam knew nothing about what was happening here, and every moment that nothing happened was another moment his fear abated.

            “What’s the worst that can happen?” he asked himself, knowing that his father’s answer would be certain death.

            He stood slowly, careful not to wake his brother. They had already had this conversation, and Dean seemed determined to keep him locked up in that room forever. His hands shook only minutely when he wrote a note, hoping to soften the blow if Dean _did_ wake up while he was gone.

_Dean,_

_Gone for a walk, be back soon. It’s all right, I’m fine. I love you,_

_Sam_

 His shoes gathered in his hands, he tiptoed to the door. A moment of terrible foreboding passed over him as he laid his hand on the door knob, but he shook it off. He was not staying in that room for another moment. He turned the knob and walked out, leaving his life behind him in that room, and oblivious to the fact that it would be years before he returned.

 

 

**_So here’s what happened: I had the idea for this fic. I was excited. I promptly remembered my nasty habit of not finishing things for a year and didn’t want to go through that again. So I’ve already written this entire fic, I just haven’t typed it up yet. So, I will be updating weekly! Yea!_ **


	2. A End That Is A Beginning

**_Okay, so maybe I lied a little bit when I said I’ll update weekly. I’m an impulsive person, so it will probably be less than a week. I’ve had a really hard week, today especially. I’m super overwhelmed and just… so I need to just go ahead and post this now. I love posting and hearing yalls reviews, it honestly makes my day_ ** **_J_ **

**_I know I didn’t post the ages in the first chapter (I knew I had forgotten something!) but I have since put it in the summary and will put it here: Sam is 13, and Dean is 17._ **

               

It was just as he had imagined it. The sun was full and bright in the sky. A cool breeze caressed the grass and trees, swaying them. He took a deep breath and smiled, thinking how he would only be out for a couple of minutes. He flinched at the idea of Dean waking up and finding him gone. There would be hell to pay, but only after the initial rush of panic, which would abate only after Dean had wrapped himself around Sam and defeated any danger. That routine had proved true every time.

                He bent down to tie his shoelaces, reveling in the stretch. It had been a long time.

                Squinting, he peered into his surroundings. The pavement was cracked and bare except for the manager’s car and the Impala, shining bright in the hot summer day. The deserted road lead away into the thick forestation surrounding the old and wilting establishment.

                Hand on the sweating brick wall, Sam walked slowly around the motel, savoring the sweet moment. He smiled as he focused on the leaves surrounding him. The deep green was promising and inviting. Without thinking, he reached out and caressed the nearest tree. He had always secretly loved it when a hunt took them deep into the woods. It was not just the comfort the cover gave him, but the way the trees seemed to be embracing him from every side. The deep, rich colors were warm and friendly. The shimmering green always reminded him of Dean’s eyes.

He blushed furiously at that thought and shook it off. His eyes continued down the line of greenery until they landed on something odd, a place with considerably less density in the foliage, as though it was an opening. He meandered over, never removing his outstretched hand from the leaves and buds it brushed up against. He came upon the curious spot and found it was a path. It was old and overgrown, but still partially visible. His curiosity peaked. He knew there was nothing out here except for the motel; no paths or trails written on any maps. What could this be? The light seemed lighter and the green much greener when he looked down the path. He legs still ached from being cramped inside, and the adventure seemed inviting. He took an eager step forward before he could stop himself.         

He must have already been out there for ten minutes, and he really needed to get back. It was a miracle that Dean hadn’t knocked down the door kicking and screaming already. But he hadn’t, and maybe, just maybe, he would sleep for a little while longer, and Sam could just take a peak…it was  a ridiculous notion he knew, but he felt as though his whole life had been leading up to this moment. Here was this one tremendous moment, this incredible possibility. Was he just gonna pass it up because of his insane father? Rebellion bubbled up in his chest. It filled his veins, but was stunted by the sudden image of Dean’s face, scared and panicked because he had lost his little brother.

Sam was under no illusions about his relationship with his brother. All he had ever known was his big brother’s reassuring hands and loving smile. He knew Dean felt the same way. He never wanted to hurt his brother, ever. How could he if Dean was everything that was good in his life?

But he felt as though he had passed some point of no return, despite the fact that it had only been a moment since he had found the seductive passage. With a momentary glance backwards, he pushed forward into the foliage.

The moment Sam stepped onto the path, everything seemed to change. The smell of honeysuckle near overwhelmed him. The light was beautiful dancing in the leaves above him. The sound of the wind through the trees was almost like music. He nearly laughed at how cliché the whole situation was. The grass was soft beneath his worn sneakers, and the walk was overall pleasant.

                He continued down the path, not minding that there was no foreseeable end in sight. There was a previously unknown feeling of bliss spreading through him. He felt calm and safe in a way he hadn’t since he had learned the truth about the monster under his bed unless Dean was with him.

                He was so lost in his thoughts that he never noticed the clearing the path had lead him to. It was small, only fifty yards across, surrounded by trees on all sides but one. There was a rough incline in front of him, like the beginnings of a mountain. It went steeply up about a hundred feet before stopping suddenly like a cliff. It was made of hard, jagged rock he could easily imagine slipping and falling on. Still, the whole place seemed unwaveringly pleasant. He took a few more steps forward, accompanied by the gusting wind. It had picked up considerably since he entered the space, and brought darkness with it.

                Clouds covered the sky, thick and heavy. He shivered, suddenly it was much too cold. Shadows sprang up and loomed to all sides, yelling at him through the wind. Confusion clouded his thoughts as to how everything had turned south so quickly.

                He couldn’t understand, and he didn’t see the one shadow who was much too real until it was much too late.

                He did, however, feel it as something slipped between his ribs and pierced his heart. He felt the burning, agonizing pain that filled his entire being. He saw the crimson flooding the ground.

                His last thought was, “ _Don’t let Dean be the one to find me._ ”

****

**_I know these chapters are pretty short, but I promise some longer ones are coming! Reviews are my rock salt, so let’s get this party in the Impala and on the road!_ **


	3. First Waking

**_So right now is the time I was_ originally _supposed to post the second chapter, but I did that Friday. So here is the third chapter. Love the reviews, so keep them coming! Yall are soooo great. Again, pretty short and probably confusing. But I promise it gets more explanatory and long. One or two more chapters. Also again: reviews encourage me to post faster!_**

                It was cold. Before he knew anything else, he knew he was cold. Scratch that, _freezing_. Then came the rushing realization that he could not feel his limbs. His eyes sprang open, and he was faced with pure and terrifying darkness. Somehow he was aware that his breathing had picked up; he was hyperventilating. It was an odd sensation, since whatever feeling he had in his chest was muted.

                He shot up in the dark, the sounds of his movement echoing in the space. His eyes, beginning to adjust to the darkness, recognized the rough walls and scratchy surfaces of a cave. Where was he? Was he underground? Was there enough air down there? Was that why he couldn’t feel hardly anything?

                Sam tried to keep calm and remember. But try as hard as he could, all he could see was his brother’s face, fresh in his memory, but that was nothing unusual. Dean was never far from the surface of Sam’s mind.

                His father’s warnings echoed in his head. Lack of oxygen was a dangerous thing. It could cause hallucinations and a clouded mind. He attempted to steady both his mind and body. His hands shakily traced the ground, feeling slowly returning to his frigid, freezing body.

                After a moment, he began to feel reassurance in the still silence. There was no one else, nothing else, here. There was no immediate physical threat. His mind slowed down at this. Threat. There had been a threat…

                Any calm he had regained dissipated. His breaths came in short, panicked gasps. His shaking fingers came up to probe his chest. He half expected to find a gaping hole…

                _It had hurt. God, it was nothing like he had ever felt before._

                But _what_ had? He couldn’t remember anything except for the blinding pain in his chest.

                His fingers found nothing but the cold and unripped surface of his shirt. Maybe he had dreamt it! Surely, he must have!

                As he ran through his frantic thoughts, the shadows around him began shifting. The moving darkness pulled him out of his head. He wanted to scream and cry for his brother. But that was not the way he had been trained. With a deep breath he pushed himself up. Hands extended, he walked numbly forward in an attempt to find a wall.

                A noise filed his ears. It was an odd sort of thing, muted and distorted as though he had a blanket over his head. It was a thrumming, like that of an insect, except more sinister and deep. It picked up in intensity when the movement did. It was surrounding him, closer and closer.

                His hands struck rock hard enough to break skin. His feet moved quickly, frantically. It was a surprise he hadn’t tripped as he ran alongside the rock wall.

                The sound and movement had intensified as he had. It was pounding in his head, thrumming through his mind to such an extent that it brought him pain. He felt like he was being suffocated. He rounded a tunnel and…

                There! A light! If he could just make t a few more steps… but the shadows were drowning him, and he couldn’t breathe.

                Before he was gone, his mind registered the sight of the clearing through the mouth of the cave, and the dark autumn leaves staining the ground.


	4. Call Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TADA! I told you there would be a longer chapter! Here it is! Thank you all so much for the reviews and support, you really are amazing! I know this may be a tad confusing of a story, but here's the thing: I want it to be. I want you guys to feel the desperation and fear that Sammy feels, because I think that's what makes the story.

Numb had taken on a new definition for one Sam Winchester. He skin was a whole new type of cold. He knew he was cold, he sensed it, but he did not  _feel_  it. He found contentment in the numbness this brought him. Something in the back of his mind told him he should be in an incredible amount of pain. It was only when he let out a soft breath did he recognize the sensation of pressure on his chest. Not a lot, but enough to be noticeable. After a moment of wondering, he decided he would open his eyes, disturbing the peace he had settled into.

It was astonishingly bright. All he saw was a pure, crisp whiteness. When, after a few hurried blinks, the overwhelming white did not go away a slight panic set it. Hmm, that felt familiar. The panic and fear felt like old friends.

His memory came staggering back with a bang. His head ached with the sudden realization. He was reminded of when he had had his first beer a few months ago. When he had woken up the next morning his limbs had felt like lead. He struggled to move and sit up. In doing so, he threw off the layer of white fluff that had accumulated on his chest. Was that… snow? No, it couldn't be. It was  _summer_ , for god's sake!

He stumbled to his feet, eager to make it outside to inspect the "snow." The light shined brightly on his face in the way only a glimmering snowy light could. It was only once he had made it a few steps into the cracking snow that he realized he had made it safely though the mouth of the cave. His back tingled, and he felt as though someone or something was watching him from behind. He was frozen, and suddenly terrified. Sam couldn't bring himself to turn around. Instead, he studied the space in front of him.

It was the clearing. He identified himself as being on the far side. Sam knew that the "snow" blanketing the ground was covering the rough rocky surface of the incline beneath his feet, which could easily hide a cave.

He quickly got the feeling that the last time he had stood there had been a long, long time ago. But that couldn't possibly be right. He had been out for a day at the most, right?

The snow cracked behind him, and his tense body exploded. He took off running as fast as he could. The cold branches whipped his face, and he continued to trip on dead trees and the like hidden under the "snow." But he was never down for more than a second. At first, there was no sound behind him, for which he was grateful. But the silence did not last long. A sound arose from deep within the forest, attacking him from every side. At first, he couldn't even begin to fathom what it was. The pitch wavered, but was always present. Horror shuddered through the boy's tired body when he recognized the terrifying sound as  _laughter_.

He continued to run, despite the fact that the something he was running from appeared to be just as much in front of him as it was behind him if the sick laughter was anything to go on. He could vaguely feel blood, tears, and "snow" trickling down his face, but he paid it no mind. He was completely focused on finding his way back to the motel; back to his Dean. Dean would make the evil leave, never to terrify his little brother again. Sam held tight to that hope as the trees seemed to never end. Surely the path had not been this long and overgrown last time. Why, it would have taken it years to reach this point. He choose not to dwell on that thought.

A light broke out in the trees ahead of him, and his tears were suddenly of an overwhelming sense of relief. He burst out of the trees and everything seemed to  _stop_.

All sounds ended: the cracking of the branches the horrific laughter, even that of his heavily beating heart. Nothing moved. There was no swaying wind, nor scrambling insect. For a moment he had the terrible feeling that he had escaped his own death only to stumble onto that of the rest of the world. This was a feeling he could not shake off, as he stared solemnly at the back of the old brick building. Even the images of Dean waiting inside didn't seem quite right. His hand traced the cracks of the wall again as he walked the length of it and came to the corner.

He kept his head down and eyes on the ground until he made it to the front. He didn't want to see. His feet met the sidewalk and he paused. Sam must have stood there for five minutes before looking up.

There was a dull horror in the back of his throat, one not quite there. Sam couldn't bring himself to feel anything.

The parking lot was empty. Totally and completely empty. No manager's car, no Impala, and no dad's truck. More scary than that though, was the appearance of the building itself. It had not been a pretty sight before, but  _now_ …

The paint that had graced the ugly doors had long since faded and flecked away. In fact, many of the doors were missing. The empty doorways, and all of the windows were boarded up. The wood was rotten, and not holding up well with the "snow." Spare pieces of broken furniture littered the sidewalk; a chair here, a bed table there. The thing his eyes lingered on the most, however, was the large red sign nailed hurriedly to the office door.

_**-CLOSED-** _

_***OUT OF BUISNESS*** _

By the looks of it, it had been for a long time. Nausea coursed through him and he had to sit down against the wall. Sam buried his head in his knees and wanted to cry again. He couldn't. His eyes peered up, glancing over the motel one more time, making sure it was all real. It was.

But that time around, his eyes caught in something. The blue metal of the payphone was dull and dented. The white letter were faded and peeled off. But the phone lay in its cradle, a shining beacon in the "snow."

He stumbled up and made his way across the parking lot. His fingers trembled as they traced over the worn numbers.  _Please work_ , he prayed silently. Slowly he picked up the phone and brought it to his ear. The dial tone was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. He became acutely aware of his lack of money. His hope receded, but only for a moment.

Sam's mind flashed back to a few months prior…

_Sam kept his head down as the hordes of students flowed past him as he sat on the school steps. Dean was nowhere to be seen. He was probably caught up with the waitress that had been serving him._

_His day had been… horrible It was the first day of school in that bum town. The kids had all looked at him weird. The teachers had glared at him if he was too far behind or too far ahead. His lunch had mysteriously disappeared into a sea of jeering faces. All in all, he was miserable._

_The familiar roar of the Impala brought him out of his unfortunate revere A smile crept onto his face when the well-loved, faded boots stopped in front of him._

_"Hey kiddo," the voice rang out, "Guess what I've got."_

_The smile grew larger as Sam peered up. His older brother seemed practically angelic with the sun shining out from behind his head. Dean stood grinning, holding two chocolate bars triumphantly. He plopped down next to his little brother and handed Sam his bar. They ate quietly in the spring warmth. Dean threw an arm over Sam's shoulders and pulled him to his chest._

_"Today is a good day, Sammy, today is a good day." Yep, he had certainly been with the waitress. But Dean's happiness was infectious. His entire day suddenly seemed much less horrid and his life so much more promising as he sat with his head on Dean's chest._

_Sam made a promise to himself that day. Someday, Dean would have a bad day too. And then, Sam would be there with chocolate. Money was rare for them, and it never went to something as trivial as chocolate. Dean had probably stolen theirs. So, from that day on, Sam scoured money wherever he could. It was usually courters and nickels found in the musty corners of the places they stayed. But Sam kept them all. Anything he found, he hid in his pocket until he was safely alone in the motel. Their father was notorious for bag and room checks, and Sam knew that any money would be confiscated and the possession of it cause for chastisement. So he did his best to hide his meager change. He would usually tape them under the sink, hidden from all eyes. He had accumulated quite a few…_

It would have been easy to knock down the door and its boards guarding his room. But Sam was not really up to the whole "knocking down a door" thing. Honestly, he felt like he had died and come back to life. Okay, not funny. But all of his hopes lay on those quarters still being tapped under that sink in the bathroom cabinets. He rammed his shoulder against the door again and again, with no results. His eyes searched desperately for a way to open the door.

There, underneath the closed sign on the office door. A melted cardboard box of nails and a hammer, half obscured by the snow on the sidewalk. It felt awkward and heavy in his hands, but he was still able to pry out the nails boarding the door up. The rotten boards fell to the ground with a muted  _thump_. Under the boards, the door was unlocked, and opened easily.

The room was dark when he stepped inside. The air was rank and humid despite the crisp weather outside. Dust floated through the room, and the carpet was mushy and wet under his feet. A glance up reveled many cracks in the old ceiling, the areas around them saturated with water. As he walked slowly inside, the old salt line crunched under his feet. Most of it had melted into the carpet, but a portion near a dry corner had not. He reached down and took a hand full of the salt, feeling it roll between his fingers. A twig cracked outside and he shivered. He shoved the handful of salt into his pocket.

One of the beds, his, was gone, along with the ratty of sofa and broken minifridge. The remaining bed had been stripped of everything and was propped up against the wall, partly obscuring the entrance to the bathroom. He crawled over it and opened the door. It promptly broke off one of its hinges and fell forward slightly, giving him a fright in his already keyed-up state.

Thankfully, it looked like the owners had given up by the time they had reached the bathroom. It was all still in place, minus Sam's toothbrush. The toilet paper was a soggy mess and the towels looked as though they had been attacked by moths, but it was still a heavenly sight.

He crouched in front of the sink and opened the cabinet. His fingers felt along the ridges inside blindly. There was only the light from the door in the room over. He stood up in frustration and easily pried the smaller board off the tiny window, letting more light into the room, before going back to the cabinet. Sam's hope fell farther and farther every moment his fingers brushed against only the cracked ceramic and moist wood. Then – Oh!

He pulled his hand out, ten quarters in his hand. They were dull and fuzzy from the tape, but to Sam they were the most beautiful thing in the world. He ran out of the dead room, glad to be rid of it, and out into the parking lot. Something was different, though. The clouds had gathered darkly and a slight wind had picked up. Suddenly feeling as though he had only moments, his fingers rushed over the keys, dialing Dean's last number. He risked a glance behind him as he cradled the phone to his ear. Sam jumped as a voice filled his ear.

"This number is out of order-" He slammed the phone down. The monotone feminine voice filled him with dread. His father's number yielded the same disappointing results. Sam's hands trembled as he inserted the last few quarters. He hesitated, then typed in the last number he could remember, and knew to be unchanging. The dial tone rang and rang. There was no response, and the wind was growing louder. Keeping the phone against his ear, he slide down the side of the phone booth, watching the forest in fear. It had somehow grown darker, and seemed to loom over the decrepit building. Fear was caught in his throat as the phone just rang and rang and…

"Hello?" A gruff voice rang out that he knew well. Sam opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat in relief. "Hello?" He sounded annoyed now, and the idea that he might have hung up was the scariest of all.

"Bobby," the word was guttural and horror filled. "Bobby."

There was a pause on the other line, then the voice returned. "Who the hell is this?"

"Help me," he gasped, "it's coming Bobby please  _help me_."

"Sam?!"

"Oh god." The darkness was reaching out for him, it was already half way over the pavement.

"Sam? Kiddo? Hey, I need you to tell me where you are!"

It was nearly upon him, he could practically feel its grip.

"SAM? Breathe for me kid, I gotta be able to tell your daddy and brother where you are. We are gonna come for you, I  _promise_ , I just need you to-"

Sam screamed, and the line went dead.

_**Reviews are my rock salt!** _


	5. Sammy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, yall are fabulous, and again, it's a longer chapter! I'm just gonna warn ya: Things are about to get a lot worse for Sammy, and then a lot better ;)

It was there the next time he woke up. Right there, with him in the small chamber of the cave. Its mockery of a breath washed over him, bathing him in a different kind of darkness.

He was tired, so tired. His fight was gone, and all that was left was a longing for his brother to hold him.

"Please," he breathed out, "please."

Its laugh arose from deep within the rock, and Sam shuddered. He could sense the pleasure in the thing. It shifted around him, it seemed as though it was pulling together, or solidifying. A form began to resemble a human, growing and changing as a cloud of darkness. There were other forms, too. On the ground, squirming on the ground as they crawled out of the darkness. Beams of moonlight shot in from a crack in the rock, blinding him momentarily.

"Please what, Sam?" A voice asked from behind him. He clenched his fists and turned, slowly. The light fell on her face, and she looked lovely, just as she had always imagined. The photograph he had seen hidden in his father's bag did her no justice.

Mary stood but feet away, staring down at him, her lips quirked in amusement. Sam's mouth hung open in awe.

"I asked you a question Sam."

"I, I don't, I don't," he managed to stumble out.

"Can't you even do that right?" Her voice was sharper now. "No, I suppose not. You never could do anything right." Her gaze flickered down to her stomach, where a red flower was blooming.

"Mom," he stumbled forward, his hand outstretched. Her face twisted in disgust when he tried to touch her. She pulled her arm back and slapped him – hard. Sam fell to the ground, feeling blood spilling out of his bust lip. He looked up in horror, then anger.

 _It_ saw the look on his face and laughed again.  _It_ separated from its physical form when it did, the terrible and ghastly sound sounding wrong coming out of such heavenly and revered lips.

"Poor boy," she crouched down in front of him, "your whole life has just been one big mistake."

His glare intensified as her eyes raked over his still fallen form. Her eyes were glowing with amused hate. He didn't talk; didn't know what to say.

"You give only pain, and take everything else. Your mother, your father, Bobby. Dean."

"No," he croaked out. It was a painful thought. One he only toyed with on dark, lonely nights. That Dean would be better off without him, that Sam was dragging his brother down. It stung badly.

"Hmmmm. Yes. How he could ever care for you is beyond me. I mean, really, its his duty to protect you. But Sam, honey," she spoke mockingly, "do you really believe deep down in that rotten soul of yours that he actually  _loves_  you?"

He pulled away and stumbled to stand up. "He loves me. I know it. He's my  _brother_. How could you possibly know any better than me?"

She laughed. "Oh yeah? Well then, where is he?"

"Coming," Sam snarled, "and he's gonna kick your fugly ass."

Her eyes rolled as she stood up from her still crouched position. "You seem so sure."

"Your goddamned right I am. My brother is stronger than you could ever hope to be."

Her eyes squinted and lips pursed. "Or you, Sam. It would do you good to remember that. Your brother is such a source of good in this world, and you are just sucking that away from him."

Ouch. "He's gonna find me. He's gonna kill you."

"I sincerely doubt that."

"He could take you out in a second."

They were circling around each other, Sam edging closer to the opening that led to his salvation. It had to.

"Little boy," it seethed, "I could gut your entire family in half that time."

Tension filled his body. He was so close! Just a few more steps… he was in front of the entrance. His hand sipped into his pocket to find the salt still there.  _I hope this works_ , he thought.

"Never, you fucker," Sam promised, and threw the salt out at the creature. It shrieked and fell seething to the ground, but Sam didn't stick around long enough to see it. He took off running. His breath caught desperately in his throat. Fear burned through his veins with a fiery intensity. But his sense of determination was stronger; he did not stop running, and didn't look back. All he saw was the path ahead of him. And the trees…with the green leaves sparkling in the sun. No "snow" in sight.

Hysteria bubbled up in his chest as he ran. Maybe it was all some great big joke. Dad and Dean would be waiting on him on the other side of the trees, so they could pat his back and praise him for the bizarre training session. He would probably punch Dean in the face, then never let him go again. He latched onto that, chanting it in his mind,  _Dean will be there, just keep going, Dean will be there, just keep going_.

He burst through the trees feverishly. Sweat and tears ran down his face as he landed against the brick wall. He wanted to gasp in relief, to fall down and just  _cry_. But he knew he wasn't safe yet. Sam still didn't risk a glance behind him into the leaves, and quickly made his way around the building.

He didn't know what to expect. He feared the empty parking lot (abandoned like he had apparently been.) But that was not what he found. His breath rushed out of him when he saw the three beautiful cars; the Impala, Dad's truck, and Bobby's. He nearly collapsed again, but instead rushed forward. The place didn't look  _quite_ as dead. The other rooms looked untouched, but a light was being emitted from his room. The hum of Bobby's portable generator echoed against the building and empty jugs of water were piled outside the door. Ah, so still technically abandoned then. They were squatting.

As Sam got closer to the door, he heard voices. All so old; so tired. He recognized two: Bobby and John. The third sounded familiar, but odd. Was Dean ill? His voice certainly sounded different.

"Are you… are you sure theres anything here Bobby?" That was John all right.

"The call came from here John. I traced it. He was here."

"Yeah,  _months ago_."

Wait, what? He began to get nervous as he approached. He stood in front of the old door, fixed up somewhat and covered with symbols. A sideways glance revealed symbols carved into the windowsills as well. He didn't recognize them.

Should he knock? Should he just walk in? The rapid appearance of his family and transformation of the leaves had thrown him off. Something was  _wrong_.

Suddenly, the door flew open on its own. Bobby stood, looking worse for wear. His eyes, however tired, lit up with shock when they caught on Sam. His mouth opened and closed.

"Bobby?" His dad asked from inside the room.

"Jesus Christ," Bobby mumbled, "Jesus."

"Hey Bobby," Sam said, quietly. There was a sharp sound from inside when Sam spoke, like a chair being pushed back. A gun cocked.

Bobby reached out and pulled him in roughly. Sam could have sworn there were tears misting his eyes. He slammed the door hurriedly, as though eager to keep things out.

He didn't turn to see the rest of the room, as his unnamed fear reached its peak. That voice, that had seemed so familiar but much too  _old_ , called out from behind him.

"Sammy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another cliffhanger, but it's a happier one, yes? I promise, I will try to update tomorrow because I wrote this entire story for Sam and Dean reuniting, so I want yall to read it. And, in case you are thinking that the story is winding down, that it's all good now, nope. Sorry not sorry, but much much worse things are to come. I'm just gonna apologize now.


	6. Dean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you guys are so great. I was scared when I first started to write, but all that fear is gone. Thank you so so so so very much, I love yall!
> 
> OH YEAH, ALSO THIS IS MY FAVORITE CHAPTER. I WROTE THIS WHOLE STORY TO HAVE THIS SCENE WITH SAMMY AND DEAN. So enjoy it!

That wasn't Dean, and yet it  _was_. Sam felt much to confused to process the sight. He was, well, to start with, taller. His face was fuller and his cheeks covered in a grownup stubble that had not been there last time Sam saw him. God, he looked  _23 not 17_.

With a start, he realized his father and Bobby were the same way. There were more white and gray hairs, more wrinkles – and not the type that appear overnight.

He was broken from his reverie by a movement in front of him. Dean had taken a cautious step forward, his hand was reached out cautiously as though towards a stray and frightened animal.

"Hey," he said softly as he took another step toward his brother. His eyes were filled with wonder, and yet swimming tears. Their father, on the other hand, stood warily in the corner. His gaze at Sam was not quite as pleasant and his hands were cradling a shotgun tightly.

"Stop Dean," he ordered in  _that tone_. Dean looked back at their father, his gaze painted with exasperation and frustration.

"Come on John-"Bobby tried to reason, but was harshly interrupted.

"No. Dean, you know this. Your brother is not thirteen anymore. This thing is just screwing with you, taunting you. There is  _no way_  this thing is Sam!"

"Dad!" Dean shot back, "there is no way that thing could have gotten in here. We spent a whole week carving these symbols into every last surface."

John cocked the gun again and took a menacing step forward. Dean turned and blocked his path to Sam, who, if possible, was now even  _more_ confused. "Dean?" he asked quietly.

The mood of the room shifted. Suddenly, Sam was  _Sam_ , little brother, stubborn son, and beloved "nephew," and not just a silent and lost artifact that had shown up on their doorstep out of the blue.

"I don't care," Dean whispered hoarsely, "It doesn't matter. It's Sammy." He dropped to his knees in front of Sam, and put a hand up to his cheek, searching his face with avid wonder. He broke out into a huge grin and wrapped his arms around his baby brother. Dean began to laugh, a bubbly and hysteric sound. John still stood uncertainly in the corner, but didn't seem as aggressive.

"Hey," Dean said again as he pulled back to look into Sam's face. "Hiya Sammy. I missed you." His exuberant tone died at the end, and he was suddenly somber. He hugged Sam again, stroking the back of his head slowly. Sam had missed that with an aching passion; his brother holding him. It didn't happen as much as it did when they were kids and a simple hug was all it took to keep Sam's world revolving.

"Dean I… I don't understand." He found his voice wavering, cracking under whatever the hell those circumstances were."

"It's okay Sammy, I've got you, it's okay."

He surrendered into Dean's embrace, letting his desperate tears fall, believing that, whatever was wrong, Dean would  _fix it_. They clutched tightly to each other until Bobby cleared his throat.

"Hey," he spoke as he too knelt down in front of Sam. "Nice to see you again kiddo," Dean let out another breathy laugh. "Now you gotta help us out here. I'm afraid we don't really know what's happening."

"Neither do I," he said quietly.

"Okay, that's okay." Dean shifted from their spot on the worn carpet so Sam was practically in his lap, so he was looking at him but wrapped around him at the same time. "Just tell us what you remember. Do you remember anything?"

He nodded, and reached up to wipe his face.

"I, uh, I went outside. You told me not to, and I, I didn't… I just… I'm so sorry." He had to stop and bury his head in Dean's shoulder."

"It's alright Sammy. You damn well better be sorry, but that's a conversation for another time," Bobby encouraged.

Sam took a deep breath and began. "I found this path behind the motel. And I just… I only wanted to stretch my legs. I was so tired of being in that," he looked around and corrected himself, "In  _this_  room. But then something happened… I don't really remember what. I think there was a clearing, and then it got really dark and… I woke up in this cave and there was something  _there_ , Dean, something in the dark."

"Shhh, it's alright," Dean started to rock slightly. Sadness and fear on his face, simply because it was what Sam felt.

"But I woke up again and got out! But there was snow Dean. I don't  _understand_ , I couldn't have been out for more than  _a day_."

Everyone in the room exchanged dark glances, and Dean said, "We'll get there Sammy, I think its best you finish telling us what happened first."

"I found the motel again, but it was dead. Nobody was there, and I thought I was all alone forever and…" he took a deep, calming breath when he saw the distress and guilt on his brother's face.

"Sammy, I'm so sorry! We thought, we thought that, whatever it was, it had moved on, taken you somewhere else. We didn't think you were here anymore. I swear, if we had known, we would never have left, I  _promise._ "

"It's okay," he murmured into Dean's shoulder, "you're here now."

"Yeah, and I'll be damned if I ever let you out of my sight again." They bother chuckled sorely at that before he continued.

"But I saw the phone. I tried to call you, but your phone didn't work." Dean swore under his breath, his face stained with even more guilt. "I got to Bobby though! But then it was there, Dean! It had followed me here and I tried to run away but I just couldn't."

All eyes in the room cast a cautious glance toward the doorway.

"I woke up this time and I ran. I ran until I got here and saw you." Exhausted he stopped talking.

"What did it look like?" John's voice rang out in the silence. Sam shrugged uncomfortably. He didn't want to mention how it had looked like Mary.

"Just… darkness I suppose. Like, a cloud of darkness."

"Nothing else? This thing, whatever it is, it can transform shapes. It never did that?"

He remained silent, and shrugged noncommittally.

"Sam?" Dean asked, "Honey, we really need to know. Any bit of information is a really big deal. We don't know a whole lot, unfortunately." Sam sighed and began again.

"Part of it did. There was… more of it that was still just darkness. It looked like…" He glanced around, and saw everyone looking intently at him. He shrank back into Dean as he said, "It looked like mom."

Silence. He turned back into Dean's shoulder, suddenly afraid of the stares. He felt his brother nodding before he said, "Okay. That's good Sammy, really good. Thanks." Sam yawned, and Dean shifted as though he was to pick him up.

"No, I'm fine. Stop." But Dean still picked him up off of the floorboard and set him on the bed.

"It's okay Sammy, I bet you're tired."

"Uh uh, I have a question-" but he interrupted himself with another yawn.

"It can wait until tomorrow."

"No, it can't. Dean… how old are you?"

The last thing he saw was Dean's somber face as he replied, "twenty-two."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are my rock salt!


	7. Under Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another happy Dean and Sam chapter, even if it isn't happy. I had a question or two about ships or slash in this story. I try really hard not to write slash into my story unless is directly benefits the plot, or is the plot. That does not mean that I exclude slash. I attempt to write it where anything you want to ship is compatible. Want some wincest? Totally, there is nothing here to say "Nope, not this story." Bobby and John? Bring it on.
> 
> Oooonnnee last thing. I have serious writers block. I have this and a novel I am working on, so you may be thinking, Demory, what the hell, could you just focus on this please?! From my experience, writing a one-shot or something shortish can give me new perspective on my other, longer projects. So, if you have any prompts, preferably hurt (oh oh oh or DEAD) Sam, cause I looveee writing those. Seriously, bring it on. IM me or leave it in the reviews. :)

As he drifted in and out of sleep he heard voices. Dean wanted to leave; he wanted to scoop Sam into his arms and never look back. But they couldn't. There was some sort of tie between Sam and the thing. All they had was what they had gleamed from vague old books. But it seemed that any attempt to remove Sam any farther from  _its_ presence – which apparently extended all over the forest and motel – would result in Sam's possible demise. Maybe. Again, very vague. But it was not a chance they wanted to take. They had to kill it first.

Every time he opened his eyes a little bit, he saw Dean, perched on the bed next to him. Sometimes his hand was on his forehead, checking for a fever out of impulse. Sometimes he was just cradling Sam's hand. He felt safe for the first time in what had been, in actuality, a  _very_  long time.

That still made his head hurt to think about. He dreaded having to sit up and deal with the fact that he had apparently missed five years. Again he heard from the whispers; the tie he had with  _it_  preserved him, kept him the way he was when  _it_ found him. Just thinking about it made him shiver harshly.

"Sammy?"

He wanted to sleep forever, but he wanted to be with his bother more. His eyes opened fully and he peered up at his brother.

"Hi"

Dean grinned again, that stupid and pleased grin that was still all Sam's even though it had been five years.

"Heya there kiddo. How are ya feeling?"

It was only when Sam went to shrug that he noticed the incredible soreness coursing though him. All his muscles locked up and pain flared in his spine.

"Oh, ouch."

Dean's face morphed into concern, "what is it? What's wrong?"

"I just," he attempted to stretch again and quickly regretted it, "everything hurts."

"Can you sit up?" he asked, worried. Sam braced his arms by his sides and tried to lift himself – and promptly failed. He collapsed onto the ratty pillows and blankets whilst gasping.

"Whoah, whoah, it's okay," Dean pulled him up so Sam was cradled against his side and the pillows. "Bobby?" He asked anxiously, drawing Sam's attention to the man sitting at the old table in the corner, who sighed.

"I just don't know. But it sure as hell aint good. He got a fever?"

Dean's hand was on his forehead again in a second, and a grimace covered his face when he responded, "yeah. Thermometer?" Bobby just sighed again, knowing very well that Dean had no intention of getting up and leaving his brother alone on the bed. He stood up and went over to the medical pack and tossed the tool over to Dean.

"Open," he order softly. Sam complied, and they waited for it to beep. "Jesus," Dean said when he read it, "100, out of nowhere."

Sam just groaned, and his brother held him closer. Just then the door slammed open. Dean had himself armed and in front of Sam in a second flat, and Bobby followed suit. Everyone was relieved t find it was only John, who had his hands raised in mock surrender.

"Find anything?" Bobby asked as he sat back down.

"No, nothing," he wiped his hand down his face, "I couldn't find anything even resembling what he described." He smiled when he caught sight of his youngest awake on the bed, and walked over.

"Sammy," he said affectionately as he ruffled his hair. He frowned and shifted his hand down across Sam's forehead. "He's hot."

"100," Dean replied somberly.

John cursed under his breath and turned to look at Bobby.

"Why do you idjits always expect  _me_  to know?"

"Because you're  _Bobby_ ," Sam said quietly, earning a chuckle from everyone in the room and an eye roll from Bobby.

"Right, well here's what I've got: Whatever this thing is, it's got some tie with Sam, some life-force bond or something, hence the fact that we can't leave. It would be like ripping the bond in two, snipping a tense string. I don't think either of you could survive the repercussions. But, from what I can tell, just  _not_  leaving isn't gonna cut it. I suspect Sam's getting weaker because he is far away from it, separated, since they share the same life-force now. We've gotta find some way to disentangle their souls or whatever. But, if we are lucky, the fact that Sam's getting weaker may mean that  _it_  is getting weaker as well."

Dean's face was conflicted. Hurt Sam = Bad, but Hurt Monster = Good.

"So we can't just sit here anymore. Your saying Sam's only gonna get worse?"

"Don't hold me to any of this boy, but I suspect so."

"Let's go then," Dean said, having apparently decided that weak Sam matter more than weak monster. He moved to stand up, but then realized he was covered with little brother.

"Dean, wait. We can't go now. It's too dark, that thing will destroy us," John tried to reason. When Dean remained tense and undecided, he tried again. "If it gets us, it gets Sam. Do you really want to put him in that sort of danger again?"

Dean's face broke then, but he still was upset. "What are we supposed to do then?  _Wait_  until morning? Who's telling how sick Sammy will be by then?"

"Us walking out there right now would be handing it Sam on a silver platter Dean," John said strictly, "we will wait."

Dean shrunk a little farther back and held onto his brother a little bit tighter at that statement. "How are we supposed to just  _sit_  here? I have to help him dad, I  _have too."_ He looked down at Sam's sleepy face and said quietly, "I owe him that."

"It's okay Dean, really," Sam yawned, stuck between awake and asleep, "I'm still really sleepy. I could go for a couple more hours."

The older brother seemed for a moment like he didn't like the idea of Sam sleeping. He didn't, he was so very afraid that his little brother wouldn't open his eyes again. But there was no way he was going to say that and frighten Sam any more than he already was. So he silently vowed to watch Sam like a hawk (like he had failed to do last time.) His fist tightened around the thermometer and he nodded tightly.

"'Course Sammy. I'm right here, it's okay, I promise. Just get some sleep."

Sam nodded slightly and used whatever meager amount of energy he had left to burrow into his brother's shoulder, then he was out like a light.

Nobody else slept. They kept a solemn vigil over the room and the beloved boy inside. Bobby sat at the desk, reading as much as he possibly could. John watched the door intently, his shotgun in his lap. Dean checked Sam's temperature every half hour, his frown deepening each time.

Rain pounded on the roof on and off. The wind had picked up, and was hitting violently against the boarded up windows and rickety door. It howled ferociously, a high keening sound. There were many times when it seemed like  _more_ than the wind, and John's grip on his gun tightened. They just had to hold on, and make it through the night.

" _After this_ ," John promised, " _we will stop. Settle down. There is no way I'll get this close to losing one of them every again."_

Sam woke up multiple times, each more bleary than the last. He would babble incoherently for a few moments to Dean before slipping back into sleep. Dean would give a weak smile at the innocence of his brother, once again in his arms, then check his rising temperature.

It was nearly 3am when John cleared his throat. It was a gruff sound that had broken the fearful silence.

"How's he doin?" He nodded towards his youngest son. Dean looked down sadly and shifted Sam in his arms. The thermometer beeped, and he read, "104."

"Dammit," John rubbed his calloused hand over his face, exhausted. Dean didn't respond.

Sam hummed and turned his face out of his brother's shirt. "Dee?"

"Yeah baby, I'm right here."

"'s pretty," he slurred.

At first Dean didn't follow, until he saw his brother's hand raised, weak and trembling, to indicate the symbol carved on the headboard.

"Yeah, I guess it sort of is, isn't it?"

It was a sun with wobbly lines surrounding it, thickly at first, then thinning out as they moved outward. It was some sort of anti-demon thing John had found, and Dean had carved it thinking about his brother. It reminded it of him, somehow. Sam had the sun inside him, of that Dean was sure. The sun and the stars and everything else warm and wonderful. God, and he had almost  _lost that._  What would Dean do if he lost his sun?

Sam hummed again and leaned forward so his fingers could trace the carving. His head tilted so his eyes could take in all the many other symbols carved around the room.

Suddenly, he struggled to sit up. "Hey hey hey, Sammy, what is it?"

"Just wanna see."

"Honey, I really think you should just sit down."

"uhuh," Sam shook his head.

Dean wrapped his arms around his brother in an attempt to support him as he insisted on standing up.

"I can do it," he said softly, shaking off Dean's arms. But that did not deter him. As Sam stumbled around the room, his hands tracing the walls and symbols dreamily, Dean was always one step behind him, watching in case he fell. This continued for two of the walls until it was Bobby's turn to clear his throat.

"Look at this."

John was over by the table in a heartbeat, but Dean hesitated behind Sam. John's grunt of approval once he began to read over Bobby's shoulder was what pulled Dean away. Bobby began to read aloud.

"Big fugly thing from Indian mythology. Sort of uneatheral, It's a huge shadow thing. Takes up entire underground cave systems. It would explain how it has been moving around unnoticed, being underground."

Dean listened intently, but constantly looked over at his brother, who was walking slowly and silently down the wall.

"Here's the kicker. It can cut off pieces of itself and control them. People sized pieces, maybe bigger, maybe smaller. They can shapeshift, but need to be linked to some pure source of power, possibly Sam," He directed his attention towards the youngster, "That sound like what you saw kiddo? You said it was only a piece, the thing that looked like your mother."

Sam had moved farther down the wall and was opening the door to look into the bathroom, absorbing the symbols there as well. His back still to his family, they saw him nod slightly.

"There were lots of other pieces too. They were squirming around, changing again and again and again…" Sam trailed off quietly, cocking his head as he stared at something they couldn't see.

"Sam?" Dean asked, repressing a shudder at his description.

"It's a deer," Sam spoke, enraptured at the sight of the lovely doe just outside the bathroom window, which was still uncovered from when he had pried the board off.

The entire room froze, then burst into motion. Dean lunged forward to pull his brother away from the room, while John and Bobby approached it with guns in hand.

"What?" Sam asked, confused and nauseous because of the sudden and unexpected motion.

"Everything's dead. This thing, whatever it is, kills it all. We haven't seen another single living thing since we arrived," Dean spoke quietly into his brother's ear.

"Well maybe it escaped!" Sam murmed happily as Dean deposited him on the bed and stood protectively in front of it.

Bobby and John raised their guns tensely, while Sam and Dean watched from over their shoulders. Everyone noted with horror that the rain had seeped through the shattered window and ruined the wallpaper, and the symbols on it. Everything was still and silent as they waited for something to happen.

Suddenly, the animal began to ripple. Its flesh shivered and  _moved_ over its body. Its colors blended and morphed into shades of repelling gray and black. That for a moment, and then it appeared that whatever internal structure the thing had maintained had dissolved completely. It grew taller and thinner, then shorter and wider. It transformed rapidly but randomly before settling on a body. They watched in apt disgust. Finally it began to settle down, resembling a distorted wolf. It locked eyes with John while it tensed on its haunches. A howl echoed loudly, and Sam shrunk away. A moment passed while it stared. Then John cocked his gun and all hell brook loose.

It gave an inhuman sound, between a scream and a growl, then lunged for the window. They fired rapidly, but upon seeing it had not deterred the beast, slammed the bathroom door shut and retreated to guard the bed.

There was a loud, splintering noise and the old door shook, then nothing. A minute passed, then two. John edged forward toward the door, his gun out. His glanced back, and Bobby nodded slightly.

He kicked the door open and jumped back to aim into the room. Still nothing happened. The dull light that had hung from the ceiling was no more, and the small room was shrouded with darkness. John hesitated, unsure as how to proceed. The thing  _was_ darkness, right? Or it lived in it? Damnit, they needed more information. John's inner monologue was interrupted by a sharp "click" and a bright beam of light shining into the bathroom. Everyone turned to look at Sam, who had taken control of the flashlight. He shined the light as far into the bathroom as possible from his position and watched intently. There was nothing there.

"It's gone," Dean breathed in relief.

"Why? How can we be sure?" John urged, agitated.

Sam turned the flashlight's beam onto the symbols still above the doorframe. "The bathroom might be messed up, but this room isn't."

Everyone was silent. John walked forward again and closed the bathroom door.


	8. Into The Woods

The rest of the night passed without conflict. Well, without any  _new_  conflict. By the time the sun had risen significantly enough to see, Sam's fever was at 106. Walking and most talking were out of the question. On the rare occasion in which he was conscious, his eyes were fixed on some figure in the corner that no one else could see. Suffice to say, Dean was jumping up and down to go kill the thing and help his brother.

John slung the duffle bag over his shoulder and Dean had Sam hoisted onto his back. There was no way he was leaving his brother alone. While he didn't want to take Sam back into the woods he had just escaped from, it was the better of two horrible options. And maybe, if Sam and the thing got closer, he would start to feel better before they even killed it.

So they set out. They expected the path to be nearly impossible to find, but laid eyes on it as soon as they were around back.

"Wasn't here when I looked yesterday," John said gruffly.

Dean grimaced, "Great. This is very foreboding."

"Careful using such big words, Dean, don't want you to hurt yourself," came a scratchy voice. Dean smiled, glad to see his brother was coherent again.

"Hey Sammy, nice to hear you voice saying actual words again, and not babble," They spoke as they moved through the path.

"I do not babble," Sam said, mocking offense.

"Whatever you say, tiger."

They continued farther into the words. Bobby was taking up the back, John the front, and Dean in the middle with Sam, dozing on Dean's back and occasionally directing them. The branches brushed harshly against their faces, all but Sam's. Granted, he had his face tucked into Dean's neck, but his bare arms wrapped around his neck remained unscathed. It was like the forest wanted Sam there, like he was the invited guest, and they were unwelcome. Well, the forest could suck it.

After about thirty minutes of walking and no foreseeable progress, Sam tapped on Dean's shoulder.

"I can walk Dean."

Okay, they must have been making  _some_  progress.

"It's okay Sammy." It really didn't bother Dean; carrying his little brother. Sam was so small and so thin. It was like he was carrying his old backpack again. Except this time he wasn't looking to throw it in the corner.

Sam struggled for a moment, forcing Dean to stop and let him down. He stumbled and braced himself on a nearby tree. Dean watched him like a hawk while John and Bobby stopped to drink some water.

"Sam, really, its fine."

"I'm feeling better Dean, I promise. Just give me a minute." He took a few deep breaths and stood up straight.

Dean reached out to pace his hand on his brother's shoulder. Ill or not, he didn't want Sam walking. He felt better with him on his back. He was closer, and Dean couldn't lose him that way. With Sam walking he could wander away or get lost or or or

Yeah. No. His arm moved to wrap around all of Sam's small frame.

"We must be getting closer," John remarked, "if he is feeling better."

They continued for a while longer before the trail tapered off and ended.

"Well shit," John said, "we must have made a wrong turn."

Dean appraised his father dryly. "There were no turns to make wrongly." He caught sight of his brother, then, whom had a pinched, confused expression, as he looked into the dense woods.

"Let's go back, try to find the right way. We must have missed something." Bobby suggested, he and John already turning. Sam didn't move.

"Hey," Dean spoke softly, "Sammy."

He shook his head when his brother took a step into the foliage.

"Sam, come one," John looked back.

"No, I think… I think we have to go this way." He pulled on his brother's hand, and Dean frowned.

"Sammy, are you sure? The trees are so thick, I'm not sure if we can get through. And you couldn't have  _run_ through there."

Sam just shrugged, "Maybe, maybe not. But this is it. I know, I can tell."

Dean looked back at his father and Bobby, who looked displeased but just shrugged.

"You stay with me Sam," Dean commanded, turning back to his sibling. "My hand needs to be on your shoulder or holding yours the whole time."

Sam looked as though he wanted to protest, but stopped when he saw Dean's face. It was part strict and part stubborn determination and part… fear. He shivered and just nodded. Dean gripped Sam's jacket shoulder and they pushed into the dense foliage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, NEXT CHAPTER IS IT. LIKE BOOM, CLIMAX. INTENSE. THERE'S A SORT OF…RESOLUTION CHAPTER AFTER, SO TWO CHAPTERS LEFT! LET'S DO THIS!


	9. The Solemn March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remember that I love you guys, alright?

The walk was difficult. There was little to no light under the thick branches. The roots were hazardous; Sam kept tripping. Dean never let go, and made Sam, who walked eagerly forward, stop multiple times to get a good grip on him. The one time Sam huffed and glared back at him Dean just said, "I'm not losing you again," in a dark voice that shut Sam up.

Though it seemed like they walked forever, it was really only an hour. There was a look of triumph on Sam's face when they burst into the familiar clearing. It disappeared quickly, however, when it hit him that he was  _back there_. Fear tickled his spine, and he retreated behind his brother's back. Dean rubbed his shoulder in an attempt to comfort his little sibling.

"It's okay Sammy, we are gonna kill this sunovabitch and get you out of here." Sam nodded against his back.

They approached warily, with John and Bobby on either side of the brothers. There was no sound. They were the only thing that was moving.

"Maybe it's gone," Sam thought to himself, "maybe it isn't here anymore." But he knew it was hopeless. He was there only there because the thing was too. It had led him there, it wanted him there. And when Sam realized the pull, the fact that  _he_  almost wanted to be there, he felt a terror and disgust rip at his heart that he would never be able to look back onto without becoming nauseous.

They approached the middle of the clearing, and there was still nothing. Suddenly a voice rang out from behind them.

"Sammy, you came back!" They spun around quickly.

A girl stood at the edge of the tree line. Her head was cocked and a large smile graced her face. Sam recognized her instantly. Her name was Abby. Three towns ago she had been their neighbor, and Sam's friend. Seeing her there, in  _that place_ , felt wrong.

Her smile slipped when John and Bobby aimed their guns right at her. Sam swallowed his instinct to protect his friend.

No. Not his friend. This thing.

_**You sure about that Sammy?** _

Sam jumped back, startled by the voice in his head. She,  _it_ , was staring straight at him, the intensity strong.

They all tensed up. The positioning did not go unnoticed. With her at the trees, and the rocks at their back, they were trapped. That didn't matter, because there was no chance of them trying to run until they had destroyed the thing that had hurt one of their own.

"Sammy? What's wrong?" The voice came this time out of her mouth, the words laid out into the air. Sam's mouth was suddenly dry and he couldn't speak. He just shook his head as her eyes bore holes into him.

"Shut up," Dean barked as his grip on his knife tightened. Her small face contorted in anger.

"You shut up," her eyes narrowed on his grip on Sam's shoulder. "Give. Him. Back. Sammy's  _my_  friend."

Dean laughed humorlessly, trying to distract it as John and Bobby spread out around it.

"That aint gonna happen honey." It didn't work. Her eyes wandered blankly over John and Bobby, and she simply responded,

"oh"

Her shoulders rolled and her neck popped. Her face began to melt and bubble just like the doe. Darkness rose around them, blocking out most of the sun.

"I want him back," a growl arose from within the shifting form.

"Never," Dean promised. Then all hell broke loose. John and Bobby both took a shot. The darkness began to surge around them like a swarm of angry bees. It would form something that looked vaguely like a person, or a wolf, or even a wendigo. The partially formed beings stumbled towards them, their jaws snapping and hanging open loosely. Dean quickly handed Sam another knife incase anything got past him, which was probable considering they were in the stark open.

The original thing, the girl, bubbled and grew larger. It stalked toward the edges of the clearing, watching closely. There were holes where the bullets had pierced it, but no sign they had done any actual damage.

They fought hard. The ammo was gone pretty quick and soon everyone was fighting with their fists and knives. At least they seemed to be doing something. The forms fell and twitched on the ground after being stabbed. But there were always more being made from the darkness surrounding them.

Dean tried to stay as close to his brother as possible. But Sam fought well on his own. He felt better than ever. He knew that was because he was so close to  _it_ , which made bile rise in his throat. It was nothing compared to the horror he felt when he say the fallen forms rise and start to fight again. There were too many. He glanced to his side and saw his father and uncle trying and failing to fight them all off. He heard Dean gasping beside him, trying to recover from the blows he was receiving from all sides.

The realization hit him hard.  _They couldn't do this._ He caught sight of the main thing, standing halfway up the rocks, looking down on them with a predatory grin on its half-formed face.

_**You can stop it Sammy. You can do something right for the first time in your life. You can save them.** _

No, he knew it was lying. The worst thing he could do to Dean would be to surrender. Yet, he felt himself slow down, stop fighting. He locked eyes with the thing as two of the forms surrounded him, one on either side, and grasped his arms tightly. It smiled again as they pulled him forward, marching Sam back to his capture.

"NO!" He heard Dean scream from behind him, "Sammy! Let go of him you fucker!" He could hear his father screaming in the background too.

The martch up the rock face was the slowest moment in Sam's life. He could imagine the dramatic music playing. His feet felt like they were moving through molasses. The desperate screams and pleas behind him faded out and all he could hear was his own rapid heartbeat.

He came to a stop in front of the thing. It had settled on a hulking shape with large, distorted limbs. Its only discernable features were its red eyes and bloody grin. It was meant to terrify.

It smiled down at him, victory on its face.

_**You're mine now** _

"No," Sam spoke, and to him the words sounded as loud as an avalanche. He pulled his knife out of his jacket and stabbed it between the things eyes. Silence fell, even louder. Everyone waited with bated breaths. Then its hand twitched up and landed on the handle of the knife before pulling it out.

Sam gasped out a breath and tried to take a step backward, but ran into the forms that had hauled him up there. Anger was practically pouring off of it. The mass working as its arm raised up and it brought it back down against Sam's face – hard. He felt his cheek and lip split wide open. Sam stumbled backward again and was held up by the strong hands clenching his arms. Through the dizziness and bleariness in his head he heard Dean shouting again; a mix of Sam's name and profanities.

Its arm raised up again, but it shivered and stopped. Sam could tell it took the thing considerable amount of control, but the arm returned to its side.

Then, it started to laugh. It was the same deep, throaty sound that had been haunting him. It brought Goosebumps to Sam's sore skin.  _It_ turned and walked past him, toward his family.

"Do you see now? Do you see now that you cannot  _possibly_  win?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block the horrible monologue out. He would be trapped there forever, his family would die.

"Sam is  _mine_."

And that, that was Sam's entire life. He was John's solider. He belonged to the relentless training and homeless nights. He was Dean's brother. He belonged to the bed farthest from the door and constant mother-henning. He belonged to a hundred first days of school, to bully's bruises and whims. He belonged to not having a mother. He was defined by these things, to his very core. He certainly wasn't complaining, but it was true and painful and he knew it. So now was his chance. To be Samuel Winchester, free as free can be. But who was that?

Samuel Winchester was smart, he knew. So, Sam thought. Nothing is immortal. They can kill this thing. Why wasn't it dead already? It must have energy, or life, somewhere else. It had a connection with some life-force, or a link… a link like the one it had with Sam.

OH

Oh

…..Oh

Imagine. Imagine a thousand breaths being sucked in panic. The rushing feeling of the air  _running._  The sound of it all. And then, the air let out in a perfect harmony of calmness. A decision is made, a realization stumbled upon.

Because, of all the things the universe knows, it knows that Samuel Winchester has followed his brother long enough to know how to be  _ **brave**_.

And so it is.

It takes only a final, deep breath to fuel it. He savored how sweet it was. It had a literal air of finality to it.

The forms were not expecting the sudden revolt. He needed only an elbow and knee in the right places and he was free. The knife was where  _it_  had dropped it, and Sam gathered it quickly.

Hundreds of eyes were on him; the forms, their stares blank and lifeless.  _It's_  glare, no longer having any power over him. Dean's, filled with fear and regret and sorrow. Everyone's eyes were covered slightly with confusion.

"It's  _me_ , isn't it?" He raises the blade against his throat, with no hints of a tremble. The fear on Dean's face increased monumentally.

"Sammy!" He cried out.

The thing scowled at him, "stupid child."

"You aren't dying because of me."

Its scowl fell slightly, the mask coming apart. "No. I don't need you. I am stronger than-"

"But you do, don't you? My life force or something, that's what's keeping you alive."

It glared ferociously, "You could die, and all I would lose is a yummy toy." The grin was back as it jeered.

"But's that's just it,"  _I'm sorry Dean,_ "I'm already dead, aren't I?"

It was as though the air had been sucked out of the clearing.  _It_  had no retort.

"Bobby said you needed a pure source of life. And, me living, that uses up my life force or whatever, so… I had to stop living. No more breathing body in the way." He couldn't look at Dean, didn't want to see his face.

"Oh, you think you're so smart, don't you kid? Well, tell me this: how the hell are you walking around then?"

" _I don't know!"_ Sam shouted, tired of the games, "But I remember. At first, you… I died. It hurt and there was so much blood. I died." His mind flashed back to the burning pain in his chest. He looked down at his body.

"It's not real," he murmured to himself, bringing his hand up for inspection. He focused hard, and suddenly his skin rippled, like  _it's_ did. He felt like gagging. "Not my body, I don't have one anymore. I guess… this is just some replica. If I woke up, was a spirit without a body, well, I'd freak out. That'd use up some force, wouldn't it? And you can't just get rid of me, no, because if I go 100%, well my force goes with me. It's not my body," he repeated.

A wrenched sob from Dean brought him out of his dazed state.

"But it's close enough, isn't it?" Sam barked, his grip on the knife tightening.

_Its_ face twisted in rage but Sam choose not to look at that. He looked, instead, finally, at his brother.

Dean was crying. Pure terror took over when he caught Sam's eye. All he could do was choke out, " _no._ "

Sam smiled, gently and kindly. He wanted to say, "Thank you. Thank you for raising me. Thank you for making me into the type of person who is brave. Thank you for inspiring and encouraging me. Thank you for the chocolate. Thank you for loving me." But Sam couldn't say it, so he just smiled, and spoke solely to his brother.

"Thank you for being my life."

His hands didn't tremble as he brought the knife down into his chest where he had died. Sam didn't fear the blood this time, or the trembling that came with it. Maybe that was because he knew it wasn't really his blood. Whatever he was inhabiting, it was part of  _it._  All his soul was in was one of the forms, which was a tad more human than the rest. So he let it bleed and tremble. It was not him.

_It_ lunged toward him, fear just as clear as anger. But the moment  _its_ hand landed on Sam,  _it_  began to dissolve. It was like old paper crumbling away in the wind; blowing away.  _It_ roared in its death, and then it was gone. Sam looked and saw the other forms following suit. Some of them howled and screamed, and some watched in morbid fascination as they blew away.

Sam wondered why  _he_ wasn't blowing away.

"It's because I'm not completely dead – not yet. But enough of my force is gone now that  _it_ can't feed off of me anymore," he rationalized silently. He cringed, laying on the rock, realizing that his form would most likely blow away too once he was truly gone. There would be nothing left of him to mourn, besides his real body, which Sam suspected was rotting in the caves somewhere. He didn't even want to think about Dean's reaction.

Dean.

He saw him, fighting through the dying crowds rapidly, desperate to get to his little brother. Sam blinked and felt another piece of himself slip away.

The next time he opened his eyes, Dean was crouched on top of him. His eyes were frenzied and filled with tears. Sam couldn't quite hear right (he suspected his "eardrums" were already dissolving) but he could tell what Dean was saying.

"Sam Sammy Sam Sam"

"Come on little brother, my brother"

"Please god, oh please please"

Sam was so tired… he couldn't move. Couldn't squeeze Dean's hand one last time as Dean held him desperately. Was this how he was doomed to spend his last moments? Locked in a body that was not his own, unable to comfort his brother? It was as if he had already died, and was in hell. Sam would have shivered at that last thought if he could.

He could tell he had only seconds left. He felt as though he was slowly slipping away, like a gentle tide was pulling him. It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling. Still – he tried to pull away from it. He could do this. He could. He COULD.

Is lips moved slowly and clumsily, but Sam spoke none the less.

"Jerk"

Dean laughed. It was a choked, forced,  _desperate_ sound. It was the last thing Sam heard. He was gone when Dean replied shakily, "Bitch."

Sam couldn't hear it when Dean screamed and fell on top of him.

He couldn't see the tears streaming down his father and uncle's faces.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and it was dark.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short and sweet, a perfect contrast to the rest of the story. I just want you all to know, that I love you. You and your beautiful reviews mean the entire world to me. And this story does to. So much happened while I was writing this. I learned to drive, I started a new year of school, I made wonderful new friends, my heart was broken for the first time for about twenty minutes, and I fell deeper and deeper in love with this community. With all of you. So here we find ourselves, in front of the green light. I wrote it for all of you.

He knew before he opened his eyes that he was in the Impala. The smell of gunpowder and Dean's shampoo, the cracked leather beneath him, gave it away. Sam smiled in his sleepy state. Was it night? He didn't see any light behind his eyelids. He opened his eyes.

It was dark – but not completely. The green dash lights cast a warm glow in the car. He peered out the windows. They were on an old road. He couldn't see more than a foot away from the road before it faded into pitch black. All he could see on the road was the stoplight they were stopped in front of. It glowed bright green as well, and caught Sam's fascination. Something moved in the corner of his eye and he turned to see Dean in the driver's seat.

His brother was looking at him intensely, but with kindness. Nobody said anything, and Sam just smiled. He felt so calm… so peaceful.

Dean reached out to touch Sam's hand, laying on the seat. In spoke, all seriousness, "You ready to go kiddo?"

Sam nodded. Yeah, he was ready.

Dean smiled, and reached up to ruffle his brother's hair. He turned the ignition in the car, and they drove off into the green light.


End file.
